CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ilse stood in the interrogation room, glaring. Their suspect sat with his arms crossed, his legs spread wide as if he were trying to straddle the room. Sawyer sat upright, in his usual, casual posture, baseball cap angled towards the bright lights above.
Ilse didn't want to sit. She didn't want to speak with Mr. Whitney. Didn't even want to look at him. What sort of person preyed on the most vulnerable? What sort of evil was this? To purposefully go after humans recovering from already difficult lives.
It took her a moment and a hidden gesture behind Sawyer's back to realize she was pacing, back and forth, in front of the bleak, gray wall.
She slowed, coming to a standstill directly behind Sawyer, like some guardian angel overlooking its charge. Mr. Whitney didn't notic
